by Meghan Quinn
“Are you hitting on me?” I asked, trying to push his buttons, since I was on the verge of ramming my coffee mug through his forehead.
“What? No,” he practically shouted, looking around. “Bro-tanomo Bay, you know I like the slit and clit in my life. Have you not heard any of the stories I’ve told you? Last week alone I had seven chicks suck my cock, two at the same time, and I boned ten pussies, three in one night. I don’t play meat swords.”
“That’s offensive.” I pointed at him. “Everything that comes out of your mouth is the most offensive thing I’ve ever heard. And it sounds to me like you are overcompensating for some inner dark secrets you aren’t ready to let surface. Answer me this, at the gym do you blow-dry your dick in front of everyone?”
“People who don’t are just asking for a fungal cock.”
I nodded, took a sip of my coffee, and then said, “I think you might be gay.”
“Fuck you; I’m not gay.”
I spoke in calming tones. “It’s all right, there is nothing wrong with being gay. I know some pretty awesome people who are gay; they are just like you and me, they’re not diseased nor do they belong on another planet like some people might think. Being gay might actually bump up your cool factor.”
Crossing his arms, Freddy asked, “Why do you think I’m gay?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “To me, when a guy goes out of his way to tell another man about the amount of ‘pussy’ he eats in a night, he has to be covering up something. There is no way a guy can be that douchey without hiding a secret he’s too scared to let out.”
In all honesty, I had no clue about Freddy’s sexual preference, and I really didn’t care; that was his business, but if I could mind-fuck him for a brief moment in time to get him off my back, I would.
Pausing to think for a second, Freddy rubbed his chin, a worried look on his face. Before he spoke, a nervous laugh escaped him. “We were just bro-ing, nothing wrong with that. Women talk all the time, that doesn’t make them lesbians.”
“Correct.” I pointed my cup at him and started to walk away.
“I’m not gay,” Freddy called out, another nervous laugh escaping him.
Rolling my eyes, I worked my way back to my cubicle, where I had a framed picture of Rosie next to my computer. I sat in my chair and stared at the picture. She was wearing one of her cute polka-dot dresses; this one was pink with white dots. Her hair was piled on top of her head, random brown wisps framing her beautiful face. She was looking off to the side and there was a gorgeous smile on her face. It was one of my favorite pictures of her because it captured her true spirit. She was the girl I fell in love with in college, and the girl who I was so fucking lucky to call mine now.
Needing to talk to her, I pulled out my phone and sent her a text message.
Henry: Can’t we live on an island of our own where we don’t have to talk to douche-bag coworkers but instead lie in each other’s arms . . . naked?
I moved my mouse to wake up my computer, where another picture of Rosie popped up on the screen. This one was of her and me in Central Park under a giant tree. Warmth spread through me as I took in her beautiful blue eyes staring into the camera. Seriously, the most gorgeous woman you will ever meet.
My phone vibrated against the wood of my desk.
Rosie: Freddy corner you in the kitchen again?
She was in the know about my douche-bag coworker; it was the one complaint I had about my job. If it wasn’t for Freddy, I would have the perfect career, but no one could really have that, could they?
Henry: You guessed it, love. Although, I think I might have given him a complex.
Rosie: Tell him his quads were too small? Did he miss leg day too many times?
I laughed out loud and then remembered I was having a conversation through text. I collected myself and texted her back.
Henry: Ha-ha . . . I fear for my life if I ever say something like that. No, I just asked him if he was gay.
Rosie: There is nothing wrong with gay people.
Henry: I know! But I pointed out the fact that he was overcompensating for something and suggested that maybe he might be gay. When I left, it looked like he was really thinking about it.
Rosie: That would be an unfortunate addition to the gay community if it’s true. From the stories you’ve told me, he seems like a complete putz.
I was about to text her back when I heard my boss’s door open. Quickly stuffing my phone away in my jacket pocket, I opened my inbox and started scanning through emails, looking for important ones to answer first. Heavy footsteps sounded along the lacquered office floors, growing closer and closer to my cube.
“Anderson.” My boss called out my last name, making me cringe.
Popping my head over the wall, I answered him. “Yeah, Eric?”
“See me in my office.” Turning on his heel, he retreated to his corner office and slammed the door.
Fuck, why did I feel like this wasn’t going to be a good conversation? I tried to recount everything I’d done in the past week, scratch that, in the past month, that could possibly get me in trouble. I’d been texting Rosie more at the office, but I couldn’t imagine that was a problem. I thought I was pretty sly about talking to her while at work.
My clients were happy, and I’d been working incredibly well with the creative team, developing some dope ads. The only thing I thought of that could be an issue would involve any kind of association with Freddy.
Nervous, I stood, buttoned my suit jacket, and started to walk toward the corner office. As I walked past the cube farm, Freddy stuck his head up and said, “Dead man walking.” Typical douche remark. I wouldn’t expect anything else from him.
Ignoring the wannabe Terminator, I continued my march until I got to Eric’s door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked and waited for his signal to come in.
With a motion of his hand, I opened the door and shut it quickly, not letting anyone hear the conversation we were about to have.
“Sit,” Eric said, pointing to a chair in front of his glass desk.
Eric’s entire office was outfitted in glass and mirrors; the only things that weren’t glass were his chairs and electronics. Did he have shares in Windex or something? I tried not to overanalyze his decorating style, but a part of me couldn’t help but think how consumed he was with himself. Don’t get me wrong, Eric was a great boss, but no one needed that many mirrors in such a small space.
I noticed a deep crinkle between Eric’s eyes, his forehead was scrunched together, and he didn’t look happy . . . at all.
Eric hired me. I was his intern when I was in college, and once I graduated, I was hired to work for Bentley Advertising, an amazing opportunity I’d been incredibly grateful for, given the hardship for college graduates to find jobs today. From there, I’d worked my way up the ladder to where I had my own clients, I get to share my own ideas, and I only have to answer to one person: Eric.
“Do you know why you’re in here?” Eric asked, searching my eyes for any knowledge I might have.
Keeping my cool, even though my nerves were wrecked, I answered, “No. I don’t. Is something wrong?” Maybe I wasn’t the best at keeping my cool. In all honesty, I was one bead of sweat away from creating a slip and slide down my back for a first grade class.
Eric sat back in his chair and gripped the arms of his chairs. “I’ve built this advertising agency from the ground up. I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into this company. I’ve invested my own money into this company to develop it into one of the top advertising firms in the country.”
“You’ve done a fantastic job,” I said, putting a giant brown mark on my nose.
“I know talent when I see it, and you have talent, Henry.”
My heart eased for a second, until . . .
“But . . .”
The word “but,” it could either make or break you.
I love you so much, but . . .
Your hair looks nice, but . . .
I can’t have
sex with you tonight, but . . .
I waited with bated breath while he finished what he was about to say, my brain turning a mile a minute, recounting every indiscretion I might have caused. Nothing. I came up with absolutely nothing.
“But, I made a mistake a few years ago. I acquiesced to some investors who wanted to come in and take a percentage of the company, allowing them to put in their two cents when they wanted. At the time, it was a good idea because it allowed me to expand the company to where it is today, but it also took away some of my control.”
“Okaaaay,” I drawled out, nerves continuing to ricochet through my stomach. I actually felt like I was going to throw up. I couldn’t lose this job.
“I am in need of a Director of Social Media Marketing, and I wanted you to have the position.”
I sat up in my chair. That would be a gigantic promotion, a big enough promotion where Rosie wouldn’t have to work in a cat box all day, picking fights with tabbies and plucking cat hair from her food. She could stay home and be the author she aspired to be, and when I said stay home, I didn’t mean in our little apartment. No, we would own a house in the burbs where I would commute every day and come home to my beautiful girl in an apron . . . and only an apron. Hot. Mine.
This job would be the perfect first step toward a lifelong future with Rosie Bloom.
Visions of coming home to Rosie in an apron flooded my brain, just as Eric said, “But that choice is not mine to make.”
What did he just say? “Can you repeat that?”
“It’s not my choice who is hired as the Director of Social Media Marketing; it’s the board of directors’ choice. As you are aware, social media marketing and advertising have become the new norm, and they want to make sure whoever is hired is competent, innovative, and able to take the company to the next level.”
“I know I can do that, sir.” Yup, I said sir. “I’ve been able to elevate social media advertising for all my clients, giving them a more recognizable online profile. I’ve also developed advertising formulas to get the best use out of money invested and offered more visibility. In addition, I’ve been able to produce a perfect combination of SEO tag words for each client, boosting their online sales. Ask any of my recent clients; their online sales have skyrocketed.”
Eric held up his hand to end my desperate diatribe. “Henry, you don’t have to convince me; I know your hard work and innovation have provided great service to some of our most notable clients. But, it’s not my choice. It comes down to the board’s requirements to satisfy the gender diversity quota. Apparently, we don’t have enough females in the office.”
“What? We have plenty of women in the office, the entire creative design team is women; we are actually outnumbered by the women in this building by more than sixty percent.” I know this because, thanks to Freddy, he’s counted and told me many times that it’s a man’s wet dream to work in an office where there is a two-to-one ratio of women to men.
“Freddy give you the count?” Eric asked. I nodded. Speaking unprofessionally for a brief moment, Eric added, “That man is the biggest asshat I’ve ever met, but his work never fails to impress.” He shook his head and continued, “Anyway, we are truly an office full of women, except for the advertising team. That doesn’t sit well with the board, who is led by a female.”
“So, what does that mean?” I asked, trying not to show my irritation.
I was all for women’s rights; I would be the first one in the front lines to demand equal pay and equal rights for women. Call me a feminist, I dare you . . . it would be a huge compliment to me. If I was doing the same job as a woman, why wouldn’t she get paid the same amount of money?
But . . .
See what I did there?
I felt you shouldn’t hire someone based on their gender. All résumés should be filled with accomplishments, work ethic, and experience. Strip the names off the top and then hire based off that, not on what kind of sexual organ was in one’s pants. Then . . . pay them according to their abilities, not on what kind of private parts they have.
“It means the board is bringing in an outside hire.”
That is so fucked. I stood abruptly, sending my chair backward, and started to pace Eric’s office, trying not to bump into the sharp glass edges of his coffee tables. I gripped my forehead in frustration. Since when does merit not determine the right person for the job?
“Just like that, someone is hired from the outside because they have a vagina? I’ve worked my ass off for this company, and I actually love my job, Eric. I love coming in every day and finding a solution to our clients’ needs. It’s like a puzzle I get to solve on a daily basis. I’ve always seen myself grow in this position, and under your leadership, I knew there would be opportunity, but apparently not.” I pulled on my hair, and under my breath, I mumbled, “Fuck.”
Right now, I made good money, but living in New York City, to help Rosie reach her dreams, I needed to bring in more money. This could have the way to achieve that, but now it wasn't even a possibility. How wrong was that?
“You done?” Eric asked, glaring at me to know my place. Quickly grabbing my turned-over chair, I sat down and gave my attention to Eric. “Like I was saying, the board is bringing in an outside hire to test her skills and abilities within our industry. She doesn’t have the job yet; it’s between you and her.”
So . . . my dreams weren’t squashed just yet?
“The board decided to see who could come up with the best marketing and advertising campaign for a client who’s been shopping around.”
“The Legacy account?” I asked, knowing exactly who he was talking about.
The Legacy account was a multi-million-dollar contract floating around the industry, waiting to be picked up, wined, and dined. As a prodigious client, they could take their time and flaunt their business in different firms’ faces to see what they had to offer. This would be the biggest client I’d ever worked for. Knowing that Legacy was looking to market their new condom line, I was confident I could nail this. I used their condoms at least twice a day. I should actually buy stock in their condoms, thanks to Rosie’s inability to stay away from my dick. Not braggin’ here, folks. Just facts.
A knowing smile crossed Eric’s lips. “Yes, the Legacy account.”
“I know condoms. Use them almost every day.” The minute the sentence slipped out of my mouth, I regretted it; that wasn’t the most professional thing to say. “Um, retract that statement, I don’t want to sound like Freddy.”
Eric laughed and shook his head. “No one does.” Eric sat up in his chair and leaned over his desk so he was closer when he spoke to me. “I want you in the office next to mine, Henry. You’ve earned the right to this position; don’t let me down.”
“I won’t,” I answered him. “When does the new hire come in?”
“Friday, and so does the board. They will be laying out the terms. You have two days to prepare yourself, because once they introduce the project, your life is going to be flipped upside down for the next couple of weeks.”
“I’m on it.” Standing, I shook Eric’s hand and then left his office, fire building inside me.
This job was mine. Once I was named Director of Social Media Marketing, I would be getting down on one knee and proposing to Rosie, changing our lives forever. Nothing would stand in my way. I was bound and determined to make that woman mine.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lucifer
ROSIE
Scanning the lobby, I quickly made sure Phillip was nowhere to be found before I sprinted to the elevator, pressed the button to my floor, and then repeatedly pushed the close-door button until the elevator shut—a daily ritual now.
Who’s Phillip?
Does this ring a bell? “Whoever smelt it, dealt it?”
Yes, Phillip was the man who owned the face I’d farted on. Ever since that horrific gaseous mishap, I’d made it a mission to never share an elevator ride with him again.
I’d done pretty wel
l except for one day, one dreadful Wednesday.
It was raining and I’d forgotten my umbrella, therefore, my hair was soaked and plastered to my face. I couldn’t see anything a few inches in front of me. I ran into an elevator right before the doors closed, thinking it was empty, only to see Phillip standing to the side, looking perfectly dry, because being the intelligent human he was, he’d brought an umbrella with him.
He took one look at me and gave me a horrified expression, as if my eyeball was dangling from my socket, trying to shake hands with him. Being the awkward person I am, I waved and said, “Remember me?” Then I proceeded to give him a little tap dance and spin where I finished off with a lift of my leg and pretended to toot. I believe the words that came out of my mouth were, “I sneaked a farty leak on you.” What possessed me to do such a thing was beyond me; I tried to blame it on a morning episode of alcohol intake, but that wasn’t the case.
But that wasn’t all, his disgusted face encouraged me to add, “But don’t worry, I have a boyfriend now, so I’m saving those special toots for him. Don’t even try asking me to do it again. One-time special.”
Let’s just say, I cried in my office the first half of that morning out of pure mortification.
Thankfully, I’d avoided another elevator ride with Phillip. I highly recommend to everyone, never engage in any kind of office sexual shenanigans; they only end up traumatizing you for a lifetime.
When the door slid open to my office floor, I was bombarded by white plastic drapes hanging from the ceiling. The entire office was covered from floor to ceiling, not a square inch uncovered. Before I could ask what was going on, Susan, the receptionist, came barging through the drapes, hands to her head and a panicked look on her face. She was wearing a yellow shirt that sported a picture of a unicorn with a mustache on the front and a pair of paisley corduroys. Not the best outfit, but most certainly not the worst I’d seen her in either.
“Heavens to Murgatroyd, did you hear what happened?”
“No,” I responded, looking around for anyone other than Susan to talk to. I loved the lady, but sometimes she could blow situations out of proportion.